


Not Ideal

by msxylda



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Daddy Kink, M/M, Sam Wilson is pro at checkers, They under negotiate their kink too, This is really shameless smut, but at least they acknowledge it, but only slightly - Freeform, not edited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 10:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11689929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msxylda/pseuds/msxylda
Summary: there are good times for things like your Daddy Kink to come out or to remind someone of your murder arm, but there are also times that are... not ideal.





	Not Ideal

Not Ideal  
A Sam/Bucky daddy!kink fanfiction tale told in three parts

i. Post-adrenaline admissions

Samuel Thomas Wilson, formerly of the United States Air Force, occasionally the super hero known as Falcon, and proudly the checkers champion of the DC Veterans Affairs Office three years running was known for keeping his cool under pressure. You didn’t beat a decorated Vietnam vet who’d been kept as a POW for over eighteen months three years in a row by quaking in your boots, after all.

He was going to cut himself some slack though, since he hadn’t exactly been having a normal day.

It all started with a call from Steve Rogers. One he should’ve ignored, after the whole Triskillion H.Y.D.R.A. debacle. Learning from his mistakes was another way he’d become a checkers champ. He had a weakness, though, for white boys with strong jaw lines and commanding attitudes. 

It was really starting to become a problem.

Especially when said white boys asked you, ever so nicely in their super sad voice to check out a lead on a missing best friend who may or may not still be brainwashed and evil as fuck located in the middle of butt fuck nowhere. He’d do it himself, Sam, gee willikers, golly gosh, but there was an evil robot Tony Stark had built that was threatening to take over the world.

And while it wasn’t the commanding voice that normally made his knees go weak, it was the tone that meant Steve would be doing his impersonation of a dog in one of those ASPCA videos. The ones with the Sarah McLachlan songs that caused anyone with a soul to cry, even The Black Widow that one time. Although she tried to pass it off as a result of too much vodka, then blamed Steve, and finally told Sam that if he ever told anyone no one would ever find his body…

…maybe he should even think about that.

So he’d thrown on his wings (the ones Stark had designed while not busy working on murder bots) and flown to the middle of butt fuck nowhere, Canada only to discover:

A) It was too cold for his wings. They iced up and he went down. Hard.  
B) The “empty base” he was supposed to be reckoning was not empty.  
C) The Winter Soldier also had a strong jawline and a commanding voice.

It was actually that last one that was the most problematic. Because, as it turned out, the lead was a good one. The Winter Soldier had been at the base. He’d been there to destroy it and everyone inside of it as it was still in use by a large contingent of bad guys, but still. And, hey bonus, The Soldier’s to-be-killed list did not include Sam. A fact he’d learned when The Soldier had grabbed him by the harness and hauled him behind a crate.

And then he started yelling at him. In Russian. In that voice. Sam had been hard ever since.

It was highly inconvenient to fight a small army with an erect penis while being shouted at in a language you didn’t understand. He muttered as much under his breath (the language bit, not the part about the erection) though, and wished he hadn’t pretty much instantly.

Turned out that when he wasn’t speaking Russian, he was still just as bossy, just as commanding, but with an accent that still held traces of Brooklyn. Worse, he never shut up. Not as they took out all the remaining hostiles. Not as the pillaged for any worthwhile equipment. Not when they downloaded all the data he’d deemed relevant. Not when they set the charges to destroy the base. Not as the base was blowing up. Not when he hauled Sam by the harness to a jeep. Not while he buckled him into the passenger seat. Not as he drove through the night. Not when they reached a cabin even further into butt fuck nowhere. Not as he unbuckled Sam and hauled him out the driver’s side door. Not while he checked the perimeter of the cabin. Not when he disengaged the seemingly endless locks. Not as he shoved Sam inside the dark and musty cabin. Not even when he followed behind and re-engaged all thousand and one locks. Twice.

He just kept cursing, bossing, and bitching. So much bitching, namely over “fool hardy idiots who run head long into danger without a plan or adequate fire power.” A criticism Sam desperately wanted to believe was about Steve, though he had to admit in this case the shoe fit.

He was being reckless. He did need someone to look after him. And, God help him, he was really beginning to want that someone to be The Soldier. The man with hard eyes hidden behind long hair that was, thankfully, clean now. The one who’d grown his scruff into a full beard, trimmed to perfection that Sam desperately wanted to feel against his neck, his stomach, his thighs…

The Soldier with that goddamned voice who’d just thrown him up against the wall inside an isolated cabin in the middle of nowhere and demanded to know just what in the hell Sam had been thinking. Causing Sam to swallow and, without thinking, utter the worst thing imaginable.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

So yeah, basically, this was not ideal.

* * *

ii. Not alone.

He knew nothing about himself. He’d read all the files, of course, and had memorized what they all said, but he didn’t know it. Not the bone deep knowledge of oneself that he’d… well that he’d read about in a self-help book, actually. But as the man, Samuel Thomas Wilson, known as Falcon, friends with Steven Grant Rogers and therefore probably important, spoke some bone deep truths clicked into place.

A) He liked men. The way they looked. The way they smelled.  
B) He really liked having sex with men. The way they felt. The way they tasted.  
C) He loved being called Daddy. The way it made his throat tight and his dick hard.

It was actually that last one that was the most problematic. Because, as it turned out, being a daddy was just like riding a bike, something his body remembered without conscious thought. And without conscious thought or previous written approval, his body decided to crowd the other man. He pinned him against the wall, shoving his thigh into between Sam’s legs and feeling the other man’s hard cock even as he rubbed his own against a thickly muscled thigh.  
Sam gasped and arched his back, as much as he could, anyway, crowded as he was by the other man. And he knew, he knew, that he should back off. That there was a way things were done, and this was not it. There were conversations to be had. Negotiations to be made. Words to be chosen and spoken and… this was Stevie’s friend, goddamnit. He had to be even more careful not to fuck this all up.

He knew all of that, way down deep, straight down to his core. Just like he knew exactly how long it had been since a boy had called him daddy. Exactly how long it had been since he’d felt that particular pleasure like a lightning bolt up his spine. Just like he knew there was no fucking way he was going to stop right now.

He couldn’t even decide on a name to call himself, but it didn’t matter. Because, for right now at least, he could be Daddy and that would be enough.

He ran his flesh and blood hand up against the side of Sam’s head, wishing for a brief moment that he’d had enough hair to pull on. It didn’t matter, though; he’d find another way to control his boy. The metal hand would be easiest to use, there would be no way Sam could squirm away from it. He found that he didn’t want to use it, though. He wanted, instead, for submission to be given to him instead of taken by him. So he placed the metal hand against Sam’s hip, curling the digits around a belt loop carefully, so as not to give away just how dangerous they were.

Sam knew, of course, but as long as they were both pretending it wasn’t a weapon in its own right, that would be enough. It would have to be.

Shaking the thought off, he considered the best approach to use to get exactly what he wanted. No, not what he wanted, what they both clearly needed. He felt it as the predatory smile overtook his lips, the first time his face had curled into that particular expression in an eternity. And it must have been just as effective as Stevie always claimed it was because as soon as Sam noticed it he whimpered and melted against him, his eyes slipping shut as he did so.

Really, Sam only had himself to blame for being startled by what happened next. After all, if he hadn’t had his eyes closed, he would’ve noticed the other man leaning down, in close to his ear. He might have even seen, though the angle wasn’t ideal for it, the other man’s mouth opening. He would have known the other man was planning on speaking.

Though if he would’ve anticipated him saying “you scared Daddy, baby,” was anyone’s guess.

Probably not though, as Sam seemed to jump out of his skin as soon as the words left his mouth. Perhaps it was the tender kiss he’d placed to the hollow of Sam’s neck, just below the ear, that caused that particular reaction, though.

Sam’s mouth flapped open and shut several times, visibly shocked, before moaning and letting his head slam back against the wall. Probably because he had only stopped for a second, to gauge Sam’s reaction, and in order to hold back his chuckle had taken to nipping at Sam’s neck; tracing a path further and further down until he was able to place a solid bite at the innermost edge of his clavicle.

He gave the skin a quick lick in an attempt to soothe it before standing again. Not to his full height, of course, he still had his thigh between Sam’s, and he wasn’t giving up that friction for the world. Instead, he rocked his thigh, increasing the sensation, as he hummed a bit. “Well,” he said as he rocked again, “do you have anything to say for yourself.”

Sam swallowed, but his voice was still thick as he repeated his earlier comment. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

It was almost too good to be true.

“You already said that,” he replied, “but I don’t think a simple sorry is gonna cut it this time, baby.” He emphasized this point with another rock of his hips, digging his own erection into Sam’s thigh. 

Again Sam swallowed before speaking, and again it did not help. In fact, he mused, Sam’s voice was even thicker as if his words were molasses on a cold day. “It won’t… It won’t…”

He barked out a laugh at that, thinking of the odds that Sam wouldn’t throw himself in harm’s way again. Most likely the first time the opportunity arose. Like, the first time he let Sam out of his sight, for example.

“You’re already in a world of trouble, little boy,” he finally said with a derisive shake of his head, “don’t make things worse by lying to Daddy,” 

As soon as the word trouble left his lips, Sam jolted and their gazes locked. His eyes were clear, even as they burned with lust. And when he finally replied, his words were the clearest he’d ever spoken.

“Please, Daddy, let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything.”

It was his turn to groan, his turn to writhe, and his turn to act without thinking, wrapping the metal arm under Sam’s ass and lifting him as if he weighed nothing.

As far as techniques for not reminding your partner that your arm was a lethal weapon went, it was not ideal.

* * *

iii. Finish what you started.

“Fuck that’s hot,” he mumbled without thinking. He was glad he had, though, because when The Soldier looked up it was to grace Sam with the most open smile he had ever seen. Something inside him twisted an emotion he was not willing to name or examine too closely while getting his freak on. Instead, he leaned down and practically purred in The Soldier’s ear.

“Oh Daddy, you’re so strong.”

It was enough to get The Soldier back on track, and as that track lead him to make purposeful strides through the small cabin to kick open a door, Sam wanted to preen. Wanted to, but didn’t because as soon as the door was open he was tossed onto the bed. It creaked alarmingly under his weight and Sam had a second to worry until the room was bathed in the cold light of a lantern The Soldier had flicked on. He blinked and pulled up a hand to shield his eyes. Not that it had been bright, it wasn’t really, but it had been shocking.

He’d sort of assumed they’d be doing this in the dark, after all.

As if sensing his confusion, The Soldier smiled again, soft and sweet this time, but still with a feral edge. “I need to be able to see you, baby.” He took a step closer as he spoke. “To know you’re really okay and that you’re really sorry.” With another step, he was at the foot of the bed, looking down at Sam’s prone figure. “You understand, dontcha baby?” He asked, and Sam could only nod around the sudden lump in his throat. Jesus Christ, the way The Soldier was looking at him…

“So first, let’s get you out of these clothes so Daddy can check you,” he said as he reached down and carefully removed the harness designed to hold his wings. They were in the Jeep, useless and covered in ice, but still, Sam appreciated the effort being made.

It was almost as if it was an apology for the wings The Soldier had ripped off so long ago. Or perhaps, he mused once the harness had been set aside, for the—

His thoughts were cut off abruptly as a mighty rip tore through the bedroom. Well, the sound tore through the bedroom, what had actually torn was his state of the art body suit. The one specially designed by Stark to stand up to a full blown assault by a small country. The one laser fit to his measurements that he did not wear anything underneath.

The one currently shredded to pieces by The Soldier’s metal arm.

“Fuck. That is hot,” he groaned, repeating his earlier sentiment regarding the arm. It shouldn’t be hot; he knew that on some level. It could kill him. It had killed people. It had ripped the steering wheel out of his car once. And yet now… now it was focused on bringing him pleasure and—

“Baby,” The Soldier sad around a frown, the admonishment thick in his voice. “You keep saying such naughty words. I don’t know if I should smack your backside or give you something to put in your mouth to keep you quiet.”

Sam’s dick did not just twitch at that, it lurched. Violently. He gasped, his vision whited out momentarily, and he prayed to every god there was no to come before they even got started. Not that The Soldier was helping any, what with the way he was manhandling Sam. Getting him to sit up, stand up, stretch up, turn, skimming his hands over every inch of flesh as he checked for injuries. Something Sam only knew because he murmured as he did, making sure Sam wasn’t hurt; making him promise to tell him if that changed if he got tired, or if he got sore in any way.

And Sam did. Eagerly. Repeatedly. Sam would’ve promised him anything at that point as long as The Soldier kept calling him his good boy; as long as he got to keep calling The Soldier Daddy. And when he finally got frustrated and expressed that exact sentiment, The Soldier growled and threw him back on the bed. He used the metal arm to flip Sam over onto his stomach, pull him up off of and then place him back on his knees, and finally to spread apart his ass cheeks.

“Don’t got any slick here,” was the only warning he got before The Soldier buried his face in his ass and began to eat him out. Sam was pretty sure he’d died, somewhere in the fight with H.Y.D.R.A. Which one, he did not know and he did not care. Prior to this, the highlight of his life was beating an old man at checkers and not being dead. Prior to this, his only interactions with The Winter Soldier had been hostile, at best. Prior to this, he’d thought the Winter Soldier was not someone you saved.

Prior to fucking this, the only men that would let him call them Daddy were not interested in providing rim jobs.

And yet, despite all those prior tos, that was exactly what was happening now. The Winter Soldier, the first of H.Y.D.R.A., the ghost that scared even The Black Widow was referring to himself as Daddy, calling him his good boy, crooning praise against his furled hole, and eating his ass as if his life depended on it.

Sam didn’t have a lot of experience being on this end of things, but he was fairly certain this was a gold medal performance. The way The Soldier was working his body using just his lips and tongue was masterful, and Sam was desperate to come. He had to come. He ached to come. He begged to come. Pleading with Daddy to let him spill for the love of all that was holy until finally, The Soldier reared up, bracketing Sam’s legs with his own and forcing them together, he rested his chest along Sam’s back, he grasped Sam’s hip with his metal arm, hard enough to bruise. Just as Sam was starting to form a question, The Soldier thrust his cock between his thighs, rubbing it against Sam’s tight sack and his own dick, pulling back, and thrusting in again. And just as Sam started to understand and thrust back, working against The Soldier, he whispered into Sam’s ear…

“That’s a good boy, come for Daddy.”

And Sam did.

He did over and over again. He did as rode The Soldier’s cock, just as soon as he caught his breath. He did when The Solider spanked him, for fun not for saying naughty words. He did when The Soldier spanked him again for saying naughty words. He did after gagging and choking around The Soldier’s cock because he would not stop saying naughty words. He did while they sucked each other off. He did while they fucked sweet and slow. He did in the shower. He did against the wall. He even did once while they both ate MRE’s at the table and The Soldier stroked him off.

It almost made the MRE’s palatable.

Almost.

He did so many times that he started to forget there was an outside world. Started to forget he had a name other than “good boy” or “baby.” Stopped worrying that he’d never worked out what to call The Soldier other than Daddy. Right up until he blanked on the fact that there was a whole cadre of Super Heroes out there wondering if not where The Winter Soldier was, then at least where Falcon had gotten to.

When they broke in through the bedroom wall, poised and ready for action, just as Sam was being punished and begging Daddy not to put it in because please Daddy, it hurt (it didn’t hurt, and it was hardly a punishment) they both realized that that was probably not ideal…


End file.
